1 Carpe Bead'em

by Tonya Kappes

Before work I stroll downtown to Fountain Square, and am pleasantly surprised how at much it’s changed. The square has been redone with a big screen television, like the one in New York’s Times Square, along with several new stores and restaurants.

  Many of the restaurants offer outdoor café tables around the fountain. Each table’s umbrella has the restaurant name on it.

  Today happens to be a Cincinnati Reds businessman’s special. A ton of men are eating and drinking, getting ready for the big game against the Chicago Cubs, of all teams.

  I wonder if Wilson is here since his work is down the street.

  The square is more alive than I’ve ever seen it.

  Saks is ready to embrace another designer. Gucci will sell well, especially with the re-invention of downtown.

  The boutique is further along than I’d anticipated. When you enter Saks off Fifth Street, the boutique is just to the left. The bronze front with Gucci written in tan lettering sends chills up my spine it is so beautiful.

  The construction crew will finish in a few days. Shirts, pants, skirts, shoes and accessories are already on display and the associates are ready to make their commissions.

  I feel strange walking into a room in which all eyes are on me. Especially since the smiling faces are quivering with fear and the heads are twirling with gossip about “the new head honcho.”

  “Okay. You obviously know who I am, so let’s get to who you are.” I hear the words come out of my mouth, but am thinking: How did I get here?

  We spend the next thirty minutes introducing ourselves and getting to know each other.

  One of the new steamer associates catches me before I go into my office.

  “Hallie?” There is a slight tremble in her voice. She rubs her hand down her short styled, Posh Spice look.

  I admire her for wearing suck a cut. Not many people can pull it off, but she does it well.

  “Yes, uh…” I turn around before I get into my office, where my much-needed cup of coffee is waiting for me.

  “Beatrice,” she says, maintaining eye contact. “This lady named Piper called. She’s called twice today, asking all sorts of questions about your schedule this week.”

  “Go on, I’m listening.” I want to dissect every one of her words, but damn, her eye contact is good.

  “I told her I’m your secretary and would give you her message.” Her eyes grow dark, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “She wants to know your schedule and what’s shipping here.”

  “Secretary?” I stand up and begin pacing while rubbing my chin. I like the way this girl thinks. Piper never had a secretary. “Secretary? I like that.”

  “She said the same thing.”

  “Hold on.”

  I dial the New York office.

  “Yes this is…” I continue my conversation, telling human resources about my new proposal.

  I want a secretary, who I want and why I need her. With a little persuasion, they are on board. It couldn’t have gone any better if I had a genie lamp and rubbed the heck out of it.

  The associate sits with a smirk on her face. She knows I put my neck on the line for her and me.

  “Congratulations.” I smile. “You are my new secretary.” We stare each other down. She is good at this eye-to-eye contact business. “That’s what I’m talking about. You can do this. Stick with me, girl, and you will be running this place in no time.”

  She impetuously darts out the door.

  “Wait!” She stops dead in her tracks. “What is your name again? I can’t just call you secretary.”

  “Beatrice,” she repeats in an upbeat voice.

  “Great, Beatrice. You like coffee?” God, I hope she likes coffee.

  “Yes I do.” Her words met my sigh of relief.

  “Run across the street and grab us a cup. On me.” I wink and grab my wallet out of my purse.

  I’m going to work my butt off to one up on Piper and the Michigan store. I’m sure she’s only trying to get information to use it against me or to see what she’s up against.

  I can promise that, this store is going to surpass everyone’s expectations. I’ll be sure of it.

  Week Three

  Beads, the creative addiction.

  Author Unknown

  Chapter Fifteen

  With the boutique opening, time to myself has been scarce. Since it’s my first Sunday off, I want to hang around and take it easy. And accepting a call from Piper is far from taking it easy.

  “Hello?” I decide to take the call because I can’t avoid her forever. I try to sound as upbeat as I can all while I make a nasty face at the phone.

  Besides, it won’t be so bad, not with the great opening week we had.

  “You are one tough gal to get in touch with.” I can picture Piper sitting in my chair behind my desk getting ready for the tourists to rush down Michigan Avenue. A big difference between Cincinnati and Chicago. Chicago is for the tourists, while Cincinnati is more local traffic.

  “How can I help you on my Sunday off?” I cut to the chase.

  The laughter in the background catches me off guard. She only called to be nosy. I listen closely to see if I can hear one of my co-workers from the Chicago store, but only laughter—male laughter.

  Piper’s voice is muffled, and I faintly hear her whisper, “one more minute.”

  “Sorry about that.” There is little sympathy in her apology.

  Why is she apologizing? Is she feeling guilty for shipping me off or taking Bo when my back is turned?

  “I have been calling you all week to wish you good luck on the opening. But I can’t get past the receptionist. Corporate told me you had a fantabulous week.”

  “Secretary, My secretary.” I want to make sure I correct her so she realizes I have my own personal assistant. “Yes, I’ve had a wonderful week.”

  Then she launches into her made-up language.

  Whoever came up with the idea of turning their poodle/schnauzer mutt into a made-up name like schnoodle because their poodle is a slut and got knocked up by a schnauzer is brilliant! Any cross-breed is a mutt, no matter how you spin it, but if you label it with designer…, badda bing! You’ve got yourself a gold mine.

  Just like Piper. She puts words together and makes up her own language with words like fantabulous, ginormous, groceraunt, spanglish. Pipernomics has to be the best. She claims it’s her ideas on the current economic status of the country. What the hell?

  “It was a good week.” I try to sound even more joyful and to ignore the giggles and kisses coming from her end of the phone.

  “How is Cincinnati treating you?” She asks, snidely.

  “It’s fine.” The less information I give her, the better off I am.

  “Have you met some new friends?” she questions.

  Ah, no! The ones I have now are fine. I wish I had the guts to tell her I’m not in the market for new friends.

  “Work is keeping me busy. Speaking of work, I have to get back to the grind.” I’m not going to have everyday conversation like she’s my friend. She’s only trying to gather ammunition against me and I don’t even know why.

  “Adios, Hallie. Have a good one.” She laughs. “A little Spanglish for you.”

  I listen closely for more noise before the final click, nothing. I never figured Bo to like the Piper type. All prim and proper, not to mention giggly. Not a hair out of place. She doesn’t even care about running. She always put me down for it and now he’s off with her.

  To help forget about Piper and her phone call, I lace up my shoes and head to the square.

  Earlier, I read in the paper where The Running Store, in Hyde Park, is having a sale. I might as well run down there and check it out.

  I tuck a few dollars in my running shorts just in case I decide to look there or elsewhere. If I’m going to run, I have to take care of my barking dogs.

  When I joined my running group in Chicago, I spent an entire paycheck on running equipment. The sales lady told me she’d never seen s
omeone bring in an entourage of friends to make sure the shorts look great. But it’s a facade I have to keep up until Bo marries me and we have our first baby. Then I’ll stop running and take care of his offspring.

  Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Though I can’t help but wonder what he’d think of Cincinnati.

  With the image of my holding Bo’s baby in my arms, I fail to see the One Bead At A Time door flew open, whacking me back into reality.

  “Oh!” The woman at the door tries to catch me as I stagger around. “Are you okay? I am so sorry!”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” My heart is racing a mile a minute.

  I can just see it now. If the door hit me a fraction harder, I would’ve been out cold in a hospital room with no one at my side except Aunt Grace in one of her goofy wigs.

  Bending over with my hands resting on my hips, I reassure the woman, who looks like she’s in cardiac arrest.

  “Please come in and sit down.” She gestures towards the bead store. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  That’s the least you can do, I thought. Although, it was actually my fault for running so close to the stores. “Really, I’m fine.”

  I look around her, noting the woman inside picking out beads.

  “Deidra.” She sticks her hand out.

  She can’t be any older than me. Her hair is as black as mine, cut in an angle bob with blunt bangs across the front. “Dee for short. I feel so bad.”

  I touch the bump on my heads that’s growing by the minute. “No big deal. I’ll be fine.”

  She moves my hand away, just like my mother would’ve done to check out the bump. “We open early one Sunday a month, and hardly ever see anyone then,” she explains.

  I shake her hand, taking a closer look at her hair and wonder if that’s what my hair would look like if I got it cut.

  “Come on in and join us,” Dee offers.

  One lady at the table looks up but continues stringing. I walk in and look at the bracelet she’s designing, realizing that I’d much rather join them than keep jogging.

  “Have you ever made a bracelet?” She holds it up, letting me touch it as it dangles in the air.

  “No, I haven’t,” I admit. The Swarovski crystals glisten in the natural light. “Very nice,” I admire the shimmering stones and another cool design on the gray board.

  “Want to try?” Dee offers, again.

  “I don’t think so.” I start to laugh, and immediately notice her defense shield go up. “I mean, I don’t have a single creative bone in my body. I’d embarrass your store.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Dee walks me around her store, showing me the different levels of beading customers.

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence, but I think I’ll pass today.” I leave the door open for another day, maybe.

  “Come sit down.” Dee pulls out a chair as if she didn’t hear me.

  She’s relentless. No wonder her store is packed when I run by. And I find myself obeying.

  “See, you pick out the beads and lay them on your bead board.” Dee points to the gray board in front of me. “I like to put a space between my beads so the wire bends better when you wear it.” She points to the silver beads. “All you do is pick out a clasp. Or toggle.” She shows me a different clasp with a circle and bar.

  I follow her directions on how to crimp one end of the clasp and start designing my own bracelet. The running shop sale has now become a faint memory.

  I can’t believe all the different beads to choose from. One wall is full of bins that house different glass beads while the opposite wall is full of silver beads with different designs. Beads hang down from the wall on ropes. Each bead is priced differently and comes from different parts of the world. I pick up a tiny bottle.

  “Those are seed beads.” Dee approaches me with an amused look on her face. “I suggest starting with something a little bigger. Those will take you forever to string.”

  She’s right; I can’t imagine trying to hold one of those beads and stringing it one at time. I scan down the bins and notice that the holes get a little bigger with each bead. The cat-eye beads are amazing. The white swirls around each bead, giving them an almost iridescent effect.

  “Those look awesome with end caps on them.” Dee shows me a couple different silver findings that fit on each side of the bead like a little frame.

  Dee moves on, picks up a few tie-dyed looking beads in all different shapes. “Those are chevron beads. They make pretty cool necklaces.”

  The assortment is overwhelming.

  “How about making one for yourself?” Dee puts an empty bead board, next to the group of other beaders.

  Surely, I can string a few beads, and save the fancier designs for alter. I’ll worry about being creative next time.

  “I’ll stick to the dynamics and then I may try to be a bit more creative,” I tell her.

  The group of older women greet me by telling me how beading is good for their arthritis. I like them, and I like it.

  “I want to make four bracelets. One for each of my three best friends.” I look at the bracelet I just finished with a little more confidence.

  “I think that’s a great idea.” Dee unravels some wire from a spool. “We have a girlfriend night where you can come with your friends, bead, eat and drink wine.”

  I explain my situation and how I am living here alone. I let her know I won’t be staying longer than my twelve weeks, if I make it that long.

  The bracelets will be a great way to end our spa trip.

  “I want something fun and unique.” I concentrate on all the different-colored glass beads.

  “Why don’t we start with something very simple, so you can get the hang of it.” Dee takes the glass beads I had selected and puts them on the bead tray along with the sterling silver balls. “If you lay them out before you string them, it makes things so much easier.”

  I watch as she creates a pattern.

  With a small bit of confidence, I pick up the wire and repeat, “Glass, silver, glass, silver.” After a couple, I can start to see the beginnings of an actual bracelet.

  I smile.

  By the second bracelet, I’m getting the hang of it and requiring less of Dee’s time except, for the final crimp. Otherwise, with my luck, I might make the bracelets way too big or too small.

  “Great job.” Dee inspects both bracelets, and she notices the extra spacers I used on the second one. “Awww, nice touch. You’re a pro already. Most beaders aren’t so bold until the fourth or fifth time they come here.”

  “Just my creative side,” I say, surprising myself, and dangle my creations into the light, one by one.

  Each bracelet is alike, with the exception of one bead. I put a different bead on each one that reminded me of each of them.

  I haven’t made anything since the third grade when I crocheted my mom a book-mark that turned out to be strings barely sewn together. God love her, she used that book mark with pride, lame as it was.

  The girls will be surprised that I made these with my own two hands when generally my own two hands are doing nothing more challenging than dipping down for my credit card. I can’t wait to see their faces!

  “You’ll have to visit a lapidary in Chicago.” Dee looks at me smiling.

  Okay the jokes on me. What in the hell is a lapii…

  “Excuse me?” I ask, pretending not to hear her. I can’t say the word, much less know what it means.

  “Lapidary,” she repeats.

  I play along, saying lapidary over and over in my head, so I can Google it when I get home.

  “You know, a bead store,” she confirms.

  “Oh, you said lapidary.” I fake-laugh, trying to play it off. Bead store, duh! “I don’t know of any. I’ll have to check it out.”

  “You are a natural beader.” She is admiring the bracelets. “Usually people are shy and timid their first time. But you, you came shooting right out of the gate and got four completed. And the design i
s beautiful.”

  Aunt Grace’s phone numbers flashes on my screen.

  “Sorry, Dee,” I say. “Hold that thought.”

  “Hello, Aunt Grace.” I cradle the phone in between my ear and my shoulder while admiring my creations.

  “I swear you are psychic just like your mother.” Her voice is low and soft.

  “Caller ID.” I put down the bracelets and hold the phone closer to my ear.

  “Are you down here?” She questions me like she used to when I was a teenager.

  “Here where?”

  “Where do you think, Hawaii? Downtown, of course.” There is a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  Much better. She sounds like my aunt I love. Her health is weighing heavy on my mind.

  “No, I’m at a store in Hyde Park. Why?”

  “I want you to come visit,” she says.

  Visit? But I want to bead.

  “It is my only day off and I wasn’t planning on venturing downtown today.” I don’t want to fight the cockroaches, nor spend the drive itching all the way home and having to shower again.

  “We only have nine more weeks, Hallie. You never know, I could be dead by then. I’ve only seen you three times.”

  Who the hell is she kidding? Not only has she outlived all her siblings, she’s outlived most of her nieces and nephews, plus a few great nieces and nephews. Heart disease has taken most, in our family, but living past seventy-one is pushing it.

  “Just because I’m going home in nine weeks doesn’t mean I won’t visit again.” I refuse to give into guilt and regret. The beaders around me are all ears.

  But of course I give into the guilt. That is the one good thing my family is so darn good at.

  “Dee, I must be going.” I gather my belongings.

  For the first time since moving back, I’m enjoying myself.

  “Oh, okay.” There is twinge of disappointment in her voice. “I know this sounds really strange, but I really like the designs you made. I think a lot of my clients would love your fresh young bracelets. Are you interested in making a few for the store?”

  She touches my wrist, looking at my bracelets one more time.

  She wants me. Me? Me to make bracelets and sell them here!